


Like Pulling Teeth

by 8BitSkeleton



Series: If This City is Burning, It's By My Own Hand [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake AH Crew, FakeHaus, Fist Fights, M/M, Self-Destruction, Violence, mentioned relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8BitSkeleton/pseuds/8BitSkeleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Michael passes by the Fakehaus headquarters specifically seeking him out, James already knows what he's going to ask. </p><p>"Hey," Michael says, leaning against a door frame and acting as if his stomach isn't coiled in knots. "Wanna go to the docks tonight?" </p><p>James knows what he's asking. What he doesn't know is how the night is going to turn out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Pulling Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Vent fic turned real fic. First posting to this fandom! (Expect more from me. Soon.) Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKaa8GcPqCk), which you should also listen to as you read. 
> 
> I know it's short. I know it's violent. (And gay.) Lick your teeth and taste the blood.

This doesn't happen nearly as often as it should, Michael thinks as James' fist hits his jaw square on. 

James is always either two blocks or a phone call away yet they still don't do this as often as Michael would like. He plays if off as physical fitness to anyone who asks but anyone with two eyes and a brain can decipher Michael's self-destructive streak; it's a mile wide at this point.

James is the only one he can do this with. Gavin is too vain, Ray is too non-violent—even Bruce, the Fakehaus' so-called enforcer, would be too gentle, too caring.

It has to be James, with his wide bloody smiles and can-do attitude. James is self-destructive in his own way, but he also won't hesitate to beat Michael into a bloody pulp if that's what he wants. It has to be James.

Michael knows that James is bigger than him in any way that counts but that somehow makes him work harder for the thrill, makes him hungrier for the challenge. 

This time they're both shirtless and breathing heavily, well past the middle of it. Their knuckles are raw and their mouths taste like cheeks bitten open. James backs off for a second, dancing steps faltering with pain or adrenaline or both. He smiles a red smile and raises both hands, beckoning Michael back on for another round. His manic smile doesn't fade as he spits out the red onto the ground. Michael takes the gesture as the challenge it is. 

They round back in on each other, smiling all the way. The wet packing sounds of skin on skin sound in the empty space they're in; it's a too-big space for two small bodies whose exhales feel larger than their lungs.

After everything happens, no winner declared, James takes out his cigarettes and offers one to Michael. Michael takes it and puts it between his lips, the white and yellow already blood stained. James only has one lighter and they're both too impatient to have their own turn so they huddle closer, heads almost touching as the flame flickers on the tip of their cigarettes. Michael shakes slightly, coming down from the rush, and his shaky breathing makes the flame flicker. James' free hand slides up to the back of Michael's neck, fingers tangling in the sweaty hair, holding him still. Michael's breath evens out enough for the flame to remain steady between them, and Michael takes note of how sunken James' eyes look in the yellow flame-light. His blue eyes are fixed on the fire.

Cigarettes, Michael thinks, are something he reserves for after good fights or good sex. He's better with his fists than his hips, he muses.

 _We should start charging admission for people to line up and watch us explode together_. This thought Michael says out loud. 

James laughs an explosive laugh, one that echoes off the empty boxes and boats in the seaside warehouse. _Maybe we should,_ James responds, _make an honest living for once in our lives._

Michael snickers. _Honest according to who?_

That one James doesn't answer, and Michael notices that James' hand is still in his hair.

Michael makes a fist out of his hand one more time that night. His bones almost creak, and the already dried blood on his knuckles cracks, opening streams on his hands again. It feels good to feel _something._ He smiles like he has a secret tucked under his tongue.

James echoes the smile with his own wide smile. Their shared look feels electric, feels like static in the hot, humid air of their mingling breaths and cigarette smoke.

Michael inhales smoke around his smile and gulps it down, the sour feeling hitting his lungs more harshly than he planned. He hastily takes the cigarette between two finger and pulls it out, exhaling the smoke quickly. James hasn't stopped looking at him. 

Michael's hand falls to his lap, his lit cigarette flecking his dirty jeans with ashes. James' grip on his hair tightens. Michael's jaw goes slack. The hand that isn't in Michael's hair releases the lighter onto the concrete floor with a clatter. James pulls his cigarette out of his mouth in one swift move. 

Michael feels the kiss before it happens. It feels like another sucker punch to the jaw. James leans in _thisclose_ to Michael, gauging a reaction. Michael's eyes slip closed out of habit; he's kissed everyone on his crew, so why not start on Fakehaus already?

James' breathing goes shallow. Michael licks his bruised lips, opens a barely healed gash on the edge of his mouth. James' lips close on his, like a seal marking hot wax. It's more tender than Michael was expecting out of him after everything. Their lips are slick with sweat and new blood. It's tentative as they feel each other out for the first time. Acting as if the violence that preceded this tenderness was not the cause of it; as if the two events weren't so intricately connected.

If they were anywhere _but_ here, bruised and broken in a warehouse by the docks, this would probably mean something. But as it is, James doesn't try to make a move further than the slick, coppery-tasting slide of their lips. When they pull back, it feels like they've been connected for longer than they have. Michael realizes that one of his hands is balled up into a fist and set on James' chest, leaving bloody streaks on the slick skin. He retracts his hand as if he's been burned, clearing his throat directly after. James' hand loosens its grip on Michael's hair, falling away after a moment. His eyes seem distant as he brings the cigarette back to his mouth. 

Maybe this is how James destroys himself, Michael thinks. He's seen the way James looks at Bruce. He pushes the thought out and scoots back, staring straight out the wide door and into the dark ocean, seeing the lights it reflects move on its surface. 

_We should do this again sometime,_ Michael says, not looking at James. 

James snorts and nods, not looking at Michael. _We should._

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's my tumblr <3 ](http://shiphaus.co.vu)


End file.
